


The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot

by sanyumi



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Prison AU, all i know about prisons is from OITNB, and law from htgawm, annalise shows up, connor is a convicted murderer, does her badassery, oliver is a corrections officer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 05:12:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12880869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanyumi/pseuds/sanyumi
Summary: They never talked about it, of course. Connor would still amicably chat with him, flirt with him, touch him when no one was looking, but feelings just weren’t practical.Not that Oliver was looking to fall in love with a convicted murderer. This was just something new and exciting, a reason to come into work every day.Oliver was never good at separating sex from feelings though, and soon felt himself falling hard and fast for Connor.





	The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot

**Author's Note:**

> [Title](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0naRFSK2hQ&list=PL5165CC4CEF16F026&index=39)
> 
> This fic took me by surprise. I wrote most of it half asleep, hence the stream of conscious style. It could've been longer but I forced myself to wrap it up. I really like it, Connor looks good in prison haha.

Oliver remembers the first day he saw him, stepping off the bus, hands and feet cuffed and chained to the men behind and in front of him. He’d seen him as another inmate, another murderer, another stain in society. Though there was something different about him, something that made him stand out from the line of newcomers. He hadn’t been looking straight ahead, ready to face his sentence, or tired like he knew this was coming. The man looked… afraid, angry, and helpless all at once.

Their eyes had met briefly, locking on while Oliver scanned the line-up. The look in his eyes made Oliver hesitate, if only briefly, before moving on, putting it out of his mind. The man’s eyes were wide, honest, and bloodshot, like he’d been crying or screaming. Oliver had worked around vicious murderers and psychopaths long enough to pick out good liars, the inmates who could weasel their way into your good graces through manipulation. Oliver had seen it on occasion, he had also been the victim once or twice, but that was back in his rookie years. Now he’d hardened, as every corrections officer must be.

That was three years ago.

Oliver came to learn that inmate’s name was Connor Walsh, sentenced to life without parole for killing his ex-boyfriend and his partner. A crime of passion, as the news articles read. An easy open and shut case. Connor had been witnessed fleeing the scene of the crime from two different witnesses, and when police found the gun a few days later, it had his finger prints on it. Too obvious.

Oliver came to know more about Connor as he was reassigned to his cell block division, gaining access to a private cell that Oliver had to pass by every day.

Daily, hourly inspections of Connor’s cell opened up a window of brief communication. It had been all business in the beginning, Oliver entered, Connor stood out of the way, silent, and then Oliver would leave, often with a final glance at Connor, catching the inmate also watching him.

It unnerved Oliver at first, feeling Connor watch him, studying him. He’d had creepy inmates make gross, obvious passes at him before, but Oliver always ignored them or subtly threatened them with a wave of his baton. The way Connor looked at him wasn’t leering though… it was always with interest, nothing malicious, and silent, at first.

A couple months into regular inspections and overseeing the prisoners during recreation, Connor finally said his first word to Oliver.

“Hey.”

Oliver was standing at one of the building entrances, minding the area. He looked over at Connor, eyes flicking down and up. Connor grinned, a dull fire in his eyes.

“Hi.”

“You have a lighter?” Connor held up a cigarette.

Oliver raised an eyebrow at the cig between Connor’s fingers.

“No.”

Connor hummed, shrugging and slipping the stick behind his ear, looking out into the courtyard where some inmates threw a football back and forth.

Oliver looked over Connor again. He was very handsome, insanely good looking, even in that hideous off-white uniform and tousled hair. Even though he was a corrections officer and Connor a criminal, Oliver had to admit he stole glances at Connor whenever he got the chance. Watching how his muscles moved while working out, the way lines appeared on his cheeks when he smiled, or how fascinating Connor looked when his eyes shifted this way and that. Connor wasn’t the first inmate Oliver ogled over- probably wouldn’t be the last- but Connor was the first in a while who was well disciplined, kind, and genuinely caught Oliver’s attention.

“You don’t smoke.”

Connor looked back at him, brows raised. Oliver kept his composure while holding eye contact, hands clasped behind his back. And Connor didn’t smoke, Oliver had been through his things enough in the past couple months to know that he never owned even a single cigarette.

Connor shrugged again. “Yeah, but I figured might as well start. Everyone else here does.”

“Don’t be like everyone else.” Oliver looked away, forward towards the inmates ahead of them. He ignored how cute the curious look Connor threw at him was. “Smoking is terrible for you.”

That made Connor chuckle. Oliver blinked and refocused his stare on the man, fascinated by the sound; he’d never heard Connor laugh before.

“I’m gonna die here so who gives a fuck.”

All at once Oliver felt silly for his line, but said nothing as Connor took the cigarette again, sticking it between his lips and walked away. 

* * *

The following week Connor touched him for the first time.

Oliver had walked into his cell, leaving his partner to stand guard at the opening as he routinely searched Connor’s cell. Just as he was leaving, straightening up to look over Connor, the inmate reached forward, without warning, and brushed Oliver’s shoulder.

On instinct Oliver’s hand fell to his baton, his heart flipping over in his chest, but Connor only followed the movement of his own hand, a bored, easy expression across his face.

“Lint,” Connor explained, bringing his hand down and fixing Oliver with a look of complete innocence.

Oliver’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, studying Connor’s face, looking for guilt behind his honest, playful gaze.

“Watch yourself.” Oliver spoke, hoping to come off as cold, but instead it sounded too casual. He sensed his partner peeking into the cell and knew he needed to keep up appearances.

Connor only nodded, a tiny smile lifting a corner of his lips up.

After that Connor came up and chatted with Oliver a lot. About movie night, food, TV, the weather, anything. Oliver tried sometimes to keep Connor away, telling him to move along or walking away with a barely concealed eye roll, but as the weeks turned into months, Oliver found himself enjoying his interactions with Connor, looking forward to them.

It was all friendly at first, maybe with subtle flirting thrown in, if you squinted. Oliver had worked here far too long, earning respect over his never wavering diligence and ethics, to slip up and actually let himself get involved with an inmate. That shit didn’t fly here. But Oliver didn’t think looking and talking were grounds for suspicion, perhaps the sly touches he and Connor exchanged were, if anyone noticed.

Then the stabbing in the showers happened. Not a first for the penitentiary, but not common either. Oliver had been the first to the scene, calling for back up as he broke up a fight between Connor and some other inmate, Oliver didn’t bother remembering his name. All he could see in that moment was Connor bleeding from the side, his hand doing nothing to prevent the flow of blood gushing from a large wound and down his skin onto the dirty tiled floor.

The cold rush of fear Oliver felt in his veins was unlike anything he’d experienced in a long while, let alone for a prisoner. But as he collected Connor from the floor, helping him to the infirmary, panic swelled in Oliver. He didn’t want to lose Connor. He wanted him to be fine. He wanted Connor to live.

And when Connor started losing consciousness, his tight grip on Oliver’s uniform loosening, Oliver heard him mumble,

“Don’t leave me…” 

* * *

A month went by while Connor healed from the injury, during which Oliver realized he needed to get over this thing he had for Connor. He knew it would only lead to trouble, for both of them, and he needed to get out before they did something stupid.

Like fuck in a supply closet.

“ _Ah_ … Oliver–”

“Shut up,” Oliver punctuated the command with a harsh thrust up, covering Connor’s mouth with his own and stifling the breathy moans coming out.

The closet was dark, Oliver couldn’t see a damn thing but he felt Connor’s ass in his hands, Connor’s legs wrapped tight around his hips, and Connor’s arms around his shoulders, holding on while Oliver fucked him into the wall.

Connor’s fingers slipped into Oliver’s hair, nails scoring down on his scalp, making Oliver shudder before gripping the short strands as his mouth worked over Oliver’s.

Oliver put away thoughts of how reckless this was at the time, feeling the most alive and  _wanted_ in a long while, swallowing down Connor’s cry of release while he emptied himself into Connor, pressing against him so they were flush together, every curve and dip lined up to form two pieces of a puzzle.

After they had gotten dressed, Connor surrounded him again, kissing Oliver with a softness that surprised both of them, if Connor’s quick departure was anything to go by.

And then Connor Walsh became an addiction.

The thrill of meeting up in various, hidden locations throughout the establishment just for a quick fuck drove Oliver absolutely wild. He’d never in his life broke the rules, always a straightedge, carefully spoken, never doing anything to draw attention to himself. Maybe that’s why Connor and him were so good at this, sneaking around.

They never talked about it, of course. Connor would still amicably chat with him, flirt with him, touch him when no one was looking, but feelings just weren’t practical.

Not that Oliver was looking to fall in love with a convicted murderer. This was just something new and exciting, a reason to come into work every day.

Oliver was never good at separating sex from feelings though, and soon felt himself falling hard and fast for Connor.

He never let it slip though, for all he knew, Connor could be playing him, waiting for the right moment for Oliver to let his guard down, slip up, and strike.

A half year went by like this. Oliver knew things about Connor he’d never imagined learning from an inmate. He knew how his parents divorced, how old his sister was, how many nephews he had, stories from the holidays… Connor was a family man, apparently. Listening to Connor go on about anything mesmerized Oliver, his stories, his voice, his smile. It was downright intoxicating.

And Oliver revealed a lot about himself than he probably should have… going on about his own family, how he still rents out apartments but he’s saving up for a house, how sucky his dating life is and how he’s not really sure if working in prisons is the right path for him.

“I’ve been here so long, I’ve basically established my career here. But I hate how hard it’s made me, how much more lonely I’ve been… and I never get to smile here.”

Connor lifted his head from Oliver’s chest to look him in the eyes. They were hiding in between the pews of the chapel, one of the more riskier spots, but highly overlooked by staff.

“You’re always smiling,” Connor said thoughtfully, touching a finger to Oliver’s lips.

Oliver grinned at that, looking up to the ceiling.

“Only when I see you.”

During the colder seasons, sneaking around became more difficult, so they resorted to writing letters or leaving notes. The perfect time to do this was in the library, or in plain sight in Connor’s cell. Oliver would go in, search the place as usual, then open a book and slip an ink covered paper inside before shutting it again.

They’d become masters of exchanging notes, and it was through notes that Connor was his most intimate, his most real.

 _You make me want things I can’t have_ , read the latest one. One sentence, straight through Oliver’s heart.

Oliver didn’t know how to respond to that. After a year of fooling around, sharing personal information and getting to know each other as people, Oliver never once heard Connor say anything about his sentence, his crime, except in a morbid way like the first time they spoke, and Connor mentioned how he’d die in here.

 _Why are you in here?_  Oliver wrote back, bracing himself for anything. He didn’t want to go into the meaning behind Connor’s words, wouldn’t delude himself into hoping.

He wasn’t expecting an,  _I don’t know._

Afterwards Oliver found himself doing something he’d never done: finding an alibi for an inmate.

He scanned the Internet, articles, interviews, court transcripts, looking for any leeway into Connor’s innocence. The crime happened in the home of Connor’s ex. According to Connor’s testimony in court, he had come over to his ex’s to demand his stuff back. He had let himself in and found his ex laying on the floor, he had shot himself. Connor, grief stricken and numb, immediately fell to the ground next to him to try and resuscitate him to no avail. Then the new boyfriend came home, saw the scene before him and took it completely the wrong way, taking the gun and threatening Connor with it.

Connor claims they had a struggle, he had lunged for the gun and they fought, which ended with the other man accidentally getting shot in the stomach. Connor knew what it looked like, so instead of calling the police, he had run and tried to hide the gun.

Oliver read it all, brows narrowed and shaking his head the whole time. The story was too convenient, too well played out. And what idiot didn’t just call the police and trust them?

Then Oliver found that Connor suffered from depression and anxiety, though that obviously didn’t give him a mental health out for the crime, it helped Oliver understand Connor’s rationale, or lack thereof.

“I had never seen a dead body before… I was freaking out,” Connor had said on the stand, with a “dead look in his eyes,” according to the court report.

Connor had been found guilty of first and second degree murder. Connor also had a criminal record that included aggression with law enforcement and time spent in juvi for arson. A high enough bill to warrant life in prison.

Oliver looked at Connor with a new impression. He always knew Connor was different than the other inmates. Snappy and sarcastic sure, but his eyes were gentle, open, honest, not the eyes of a killer. Why had Connor never bothered saying anything? Why not try convincing the official you’re screwing with that you’re innocent? Surely, as someone who so passionately denied the murders in court, Connor would have mentioned something by now, planted a seed.

The idea that Connor could be innocent plagued Oliver for days, unsure what to do or how to bring it up, or even if he wanted to. What if Connor was lying? It was a very strong possibility, Oliver had a naive view of the justice system, that even though it was flawed, people always got what they deserved… working in a prison certainly didn’t help this viewpoint. Oliver needed to keep his head down, do his job, trust no one. That was how you survived in this hell hole, for both the inmates and the guards.

Bringing the subject of Connor’s innocence probably wasn’t practical right after a blow job, but Oliver was never good at being subtle.

“Did you really kill your ex?”

Connor’s heavy breathing stopped, his body going tense. Oliver was still on his knees, cursing his atrocious timing.

“… What?”

Oliver licked his swollen lips, tasting the remains of Connor. He stood up as Connor tucked himself back in, leveling Oliver with an incredulous look.

“I read your file, the police reports, everything… you pleaded innocent in court–”

“Everyone pleads innocent.” Connor rolled his eyes, looking away from Oliver.

“But are you?”

Connor scoffed, shaking his head with a sarcastic smile. “Does it matter?”

“Yes!” Oliver’s hands fell on Connor’s shoulders, up his neck, thumbs stroking his ears, coercing Connor to meet his eyes again.

A silent moment passed where they looked at each other, Oliver caressing Connor’s cheeks, ears, into his hair, and Connor’s hands resolutely unmoving at his sides. After several seconds, Connor finally sighed, leaning into Oliver’s touch.

“You are totally killing the mood.”

Oliver smiled, leaning forward to nudge his nose against Connor’s.

“I care about you,” Oliver whispered, closing his eyes and waiting for backlash.

He didn’t expect Connor to sigh again, lifting his hands to surround Oliver’s face as well, bringing him in for a chaste kiss.

“You’re stupid.”

Oliver laughed at that, glad to see Connor was also smiling.

“I don’t need you getting involved, it’s a helpless case.”

“Is that what you told yourself?” Oliver leaned back to study Connor’s eyes. “I want to help.”

“Don’t.” Connor’s voice was resolute, it made Oliver hesitate, if only for a second.

“Too late.”

That’s when Oliver found himself on a mission: to find the best defense attorney in the state. Researching and running background checks on countless self proclaimed lawyers to the lesser known names, all the way to those with a celebrity status.

Oliver found hope in Annalise Keating, a defense attorney with only a single loss to her record. She was controversial, intimidating, and expensive. But if anyone could get Connor’s charges dropped, Oliver would bet Keating could do it.

“She won a case for a man on death row in a  _week_ ,” Oliver whispered excitedly to Connor, weeks after their chat in Oliver’s office. “You know the David Allen trial? That was her!”

Connor was struck silent. He was bundled up in a dirty coat as they waited for outdoor activities to come to a close.

“Are you insane? I can’t afford a lawyer, let alone Annalise Keating–”

“I got it covered,” Oliver quickly interjected, resisting the urge to reach out and touch Connor, reassure him.

Connor coughed out a sarcastic laugh, his breath coming out in a puff of fog. “No!”

Oliver ignored him. “She’s coming today during visitation hour.”

Connor cussed, looking to the ground and shuffling his feet in the snow.

“Why are you helping me?” Connor’s voice was small, reluctant, but still sharp.

Oliver watched Connor, his cheeks red from the cold, eyes shining with moisture, brows knit together in confusion.

“Because you don’t belong here… and it’s the right thing to do.”

Connor exhaled sharply, looking back to the ground and sniffling. He crossed his arms, stepping from side to side.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Connor said softly, meeting Oliver’s gaze once more, a hopeful smile daring to break through.

Oliver smiled too, minding a guard walking past. He kissed his fingers and pressed them to Connor’s lips.

The next couple months went by in a slow, stress heavy roller coaster. Connor complied with Keating and suddenly Oliver hardly saw him. He was relocated to a new division, most of his free time went to conversations with his lawyer, his notes to Oliver were vague, telling him that Connor needed to keep the details of the case quiet for now, Keating’s orders.

So Oliver kept up on the case via social media and the news. Connor’s case had made headlines, almost 5 years in prison and just now he decides to do something about his charge? Now that he can mysteriously afford a famous defense attorney? Oliver read up on each hearing as they became public knowledge. Keating managed to bring in testimonies from other sources, brought in the original two witnesses and got them to admit uncertainty in what they really saw. How they had painted Connor to look like a guilty murderer fleeing the scene of the crime to someone scared and running for help. She brought back Connor’s original defense team, his friends and family, but this time, instead of saying how great a guy he was, arguing in favor of Connor’s inability to think rationally, his impulsive decisions and rash behavior at times. Keating brought in a top-rated psychiatrist, who did a psych evaluation on Connor, to argue that under heavy stress, such as seeing your ex lover dead from suicide and feeling guilt over accidentally shooting his current boyfriend, coupled with Connor’s pre-existing medical conditions of depression, anxiety, and apparently now, mild schizophrenia, that it wasn’t wrong for Connor to vanish from the scene and try making things right, because in his mind, Connor was doing the only thing he could.

Connor had no motive (as Annalise beat into the jury over and over again) besides the fact that the dead men were an ex and his lover. They had broken it off mutually, as Keating managed to get family and friends of the deceased to admit on the stand.

The only hard evidence against Connor was the finger print sodden gun and Connor’s poor retelling of the events, making it sound more like a poor excuse than the honest truth. Keating managed to take Connor’s entire testimony and make it work for a judge and jury, and got him off with all charges dropped.

“Connor!” Oliver ran up to him on Connor’s last day of prison, walking out the front doors with a little plastic bag of his belongings.

Connor turned, a wide smile plastered on his face. Oliver stopped in front of him. He wanted to grab Connor, pull him close, whisper how he knew he’d be fine, that he’d get out, and how he hoped he’d see him again.

“Ollie…” Connor shook his head, staring at the man with wonder in his eyes. “I was worried I wouldn’t see you before I left…”

Oliver nodded. His fingers itched. He knew people were watching, security cameras were recording, and the driver for Connor was waiting, but he couldn’t stop himself any longer. He wrapped his arms around Connor just as he dropped his bag and surrounded Oliver in a crushing hug.

Oliver’s heart smashed in his rib cage, so he held on tighter, wondering if Connor could feel it. His fingers laced through Connor’s hair, getting tangled in it. A wetness touched Oliver’s neck and he realized Connor was crying.

“Thank you,” Connor whispered in his ear. “I love you.”

Oliver stepped back, rubbing his thumbs under Connor’s puffy, purple eyes and blinked away tears of his own.

“I love you too.”

Connor cracked a weak, silly smirk at that, looking down and back up.

“I want you to marry me.”

Oliver laughed, feeling light as a feather.

“How about I give you my number first?”

Connor nodded, and Oliver did.


End file.
